On Deep Thinking and Grief

We all cope with grief in our own way. This is how I’m dealing with mine.

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When I was at lunch with a friend one day last week, he said something that caused me to dig out the field notebook I carry. I think we’d just touched on lies we tell ourselves. 

I found the page I was looking for and read it to him. It was a list I’d made titled “Lies I Believe.” I ticked off the five bullet points on my list, feeling deeply exposed. I’d never intended to read that list to anybody. And frankly, I hoped nobody would ever find it. 

“Wow! Did you write that as a part of an assignment?” my buddy asked, more impressed than he probably should have been.

He went on to call it “deep thinking.”

I shook my head about the assignment question and flipped open the notebook again to read my list on the next page that I’d titled “Truths I Believe.”

“I felt like it was important to have a list that ran counterpoint to the lies I believe,” I said.

Later that day, I was thinking about “deep thinking.” That’s when it hit me. I started my field notebook on July 27 – a couple of weeks after my good friend Shawn died. 

As I flipped through it and looked at the lists I’d made (why I want a small camper, Kingdom living principles, my perfect day, conversation starters, things I miss, outside vs. inside, my bucket list, reasons to shoot more video, what I’d do over, my strengths, my weaknesses and more), I realized I would’ve had these were conversations with Shawn.

Talk about a gut punch. 

Shawn loved having philosophical discussions. In recent years, he asked me, “If you were guaranteed to live to age sixty-five (but no older) or just roll the dice, what would you do?” As we contemplated the question, neither of us expected to live long. For the record, we both said we’d take the deal. 

Of course, life doesn’t work that way. Shawn only got fifty-five years, but he left his mark. I can’t replace him with a notebook full of lists, but he’s inspiring me to continue to think deeper. And by doing that, I’m not staying stuck in my grief. Sometimes, it sneaks up on me, like when I met his sister for lunch a couple of days ago. But in some small way, I feel like I’m carrying Shawn with me in these notebooks. 

I’ve already begun to pull the notebooks out when I’m talking to others so I can dive into these questions I would’ve discussed with Shawn, and it’s so satisfying to hear their answers and to offer my own. We all cope with grief in our own way. This is how I’m dealing with mine.

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Here are some tidbits you might find interesting this week:

• If you missed this newsletter a few months ago in which I wrote about The Last Time, check it out. While you’re at it, if you’ve never heard The Last Time by Tenille Townes, it’s worth your time.

• “He who counts the stars and calls them by name is in no danger of forgetting his own children.” -Charles Spurgeon

• Here’s a writer, Sarah E. Westfall, who could only pray for a period of time in her life via poems she wrote to God. It’s a beautiful article.

• Someone probably needs this message right now: Living on the Sidelines of a Dream by Jim Magruder.

• An Ode to Offline by Laura Kelly Fanucci.

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If you enjoy this free weekly newsletter, consider becoming a paid subscriber for $5 per month. Paid subscribers also receive a monthly, long-form essay that goes deeper than the weekly posts do. And you’ll have access to the complete archives.